Thya's Point of View
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When I arrived at the D'Arcy manor that day, I felt like I was walking straight into a storm. After spending an unmeasured amount of time at the palace, losing myself in their training grounds—without their permission, of course—it was inevitable that trouble would follow me back home. From the moment I crossed the threshold, the tension in the air was palpable. It was as though every wall, every piece of furniture, every shadow in that house was silently screaming at me. I had expected some form of reprimand, but nothing could have prepared me for the torrent of fury that awaited.
The argument started the moment I walked in and felt like it would never end. My father and stepmother descended upon me, their anger sharp and unrelenting. My father's voice boomed through the hallways, each word heavier than the last, and my stepmother's biting remarks cut into me like shards of glass. They spoke over each other, their voices tangling together into a cacophony of scolding, disappointment, and outright condemnation. Rai and Aeneas, my dutiful stepbrothers, didn't make things any easier. No, they only poured oil on the fire, recounting every single thing I had said to the King and Queen. Every word. Every request. Every defiance.
"Ungrateful," my father spat, the word laced with venom. He said it so many times it started to lose its meaning. "You're ungrateful for the life you've been given. Ungrateful for the opportunities this family has afforded you. How dare you even think of giving up your title? You are a child of House D'Arcy! That means something. Do you even understand the gravity of what you've done?"
He didn't give me time to respond, and honestly, I didn't have it in me to try. My stepmother was quick to echo his sentiments, adding her own sharp-edged commentary that sliced into me with precision. "Do you even realize how foolish you've made us look? How selfish you've been? You have a duty, Thya. To this family. To the crown. And yet, you throw it all away as though it's nothing. As though we're nothing."
Their words blurred together, a relentless barrage of guilt, anger, and disappointment. At first, I tried to argue, tried to explain myself, but it was pointless. They weren't interested in hearing my side. They were too wrapped up in their own anger to care about the why or how. My voice was drowned out, my words dismissed before they even left my mouth. So, I stopped trying.
I stood there, still and silent, as they hurled their frustrations at me, letting their voices wash over me like a tidal wave. Their anger was a force of nature, and I was the helpless victim caught in its path. Eventually, they ran out of words—or perhaps they simply tired of repeating themselves—and that's when they delivered their verdict.
Three days. That's how long I was to be confined to the manor under strict probation. Three days of being watched like a criminal, with knights stationed at every corner to ensure I didn't step out of line. "For your own good," they claimed, though we all knew the truth. It wasn't about my safety or well-being. It was about control. They feared I would run, that I would disappear and make their worst fears a reality. The King and Queen must have warned them about my defiant nature, about the spark of rebellion that burned within me.
The probation was suffocating. Everywhere I went, I felt the eyes of the knights on me, their presence a constant reminder of my supposed disobedience. It was humiliating, degrading, and infuriating. But I endured it because, at the very least, I was home. The D'Arcy manor—cold and unwelcoming as it could often be—was still my sanctuary in the Capital. It was the one place where I could breathe, where I could let my guard down, if only slightly.
When the three days finally came to an end, I felt a brief, fleeting sense of relief. But that relief was short-lived, for the first day of the Crown Princess Trials had arrived.
The entire manor was thrown into chaos. Servants rushed through the halls, their arms laden with supplies, their voices raised as they coordinated preparations. Advisors barked orders, their words sharp and commanding, while my stepmother flitted from room to room, overseeing every detail with the precision of a military general. The air buzzed with a mixture of excitement and tension, and it was enough to make my head spin.
I tried to stay out of the way, retreating to my chambers to prepare for the Trials in my own way. But even there, I couldn't escape the madness. My room was a battlefield, overrun with piles of clothes and accessories that my stepmother had deemed "essential" for my time at the Palace. Gowns, shoes, jewelry—all of it carefully selected to ensure I made the "right impression." It was absurd. I didn't need any of it, and I certainly didn't want it, but arguing would have been a waste of breath.
While they focused on appearances, I turned my attention to what truly mattered. I packed my training clothes, my daggers, and as many books as I could fit into my bags. I did it in secret, hiding my belongings beneath layers of silk and lace, knowing full well the uproar it would cause if I were caught. I also made a mental note to visit the blacksmith as soon as I had the chance. I needed a sword—a thin, lightweight blade that I could wield with precision. I couldn't rely on the knights for protection. They hated me as much as anyone else in the Capital.
Hatred for me wasn't a rare sentiment; it was practically universal. Everywhere I went, I felt it—the glares, the whispers, the thinly veiled disdain. People blamed me for tragedies I had no part in, for losses I had never caused. They didn't care about the truth. They didn't want the truth. They wanted a scapegoat, someone to bear the weight of their anger and grief. And I was the perfect target.
Over time, I learned to live with it. The sting of their words dulled, replaced by a numb acceptance. Their opinions didn't matter to me anymore. They couldn't touch me.
Still, I couldn't ignore the looming threat of Daisuke. I knew he would do everything in his power to make my life a living nightmare during the Trials. He thrived on chaos, on breaking people down piece by piece, and I was certain I was at the top of his list.
But I wouldn't let him win. No matter what he threw at me, I would stand my ground. I would fight back. Because if there was one thing I couldn't tolerate, it was letting him think he had any power over me.
As I closed my bags and steeled myself for what lay ahead, I felt a spark of defiance ignite within me. Whatever awaited me at the Palace, I would face it head-on. I would survive. I would endure. And I would prove to everyone—including myself—that I was stronger than they ever believed.